


Tales of Glachdroha

by cruentum



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Gen, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-16
Updated: 2012-04-16
Packaged: 2017-11-03 18:38:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 822
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/384578
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cruentum/pseuds/cruentum
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Percival is lonely and finds a place that feels like home.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tales of Glachdroha

**Author's Note:**

  * For [cheese](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cheese/gifts).



> Happy birthday, eh? <3

Nothing in the castle felt much like home. None of them were the types to share their sad stories by the fire, have those heart to hearts, not really before the thing with Lancelot, much less after. Merlin and Arthur went off sometimes and did their thing but between the rest of them - well, he knew who Gwaine bedded how and how often, what Leon's bests were and Elyan's noble deeds, but they didn't talk about their demons or the things they missed. But just because they didn't talk about any of that didn't mean it didn't exist whenever Percival looked over his shoulder and saw his sister in the corner of his eyes, his village, and then saw the fires.

"Here again, boy?" Geoffrey's hand brushed along Percival's shoulder, down his bent back.

Percival looked up from the gayly drawn illustrations in the Tales of the Kingdoms. The boar squealed on the end of a sharp stick on the left, on the right the village carried on in a feast.

"You'd think I'd have a bed to catch some of hours of sleep on before morning." Percival didn't look away from the pages.

"You'd think indeed." Geoffrey pulled a chair and sat next to Percival, drew the book a little closer so they both shared the pages. "Ah, the village of Glachdroha. The tale of the black boar."

Percival nodded. His sister had told him the story countless times when he couldn't sleep, scared of the scurry of the mice across the hay-coverered floor. She'd shooed him over and curled on his bed with him and told him how the people of Glachdroha had slain the evil black boar that had brought bad luck on the kingdom for years.

"A special story?"

Percival dragged his fingers over the bright faces of the people in the pictures. "Very." He couldn't put it into words, not even here, so he just shrugged and thought of his sister's hugs in the dead of the night as she whispered the story into his ear, remembered it in half broken bits and pieces, fractions of sentences.

"Proud people in that village, strong people, even later."

Percival didn't turn his face to look at Geoffrey, only stared down at the blurring pictures and words and nodded sharply, trying to not think of the fires.

"There was once a proud village, a village tucked into the mountains of..." Geoffrey read then paused.

Percival could _feel_ Geoffrey looking at him. He traced the shape of the houses and didn't look up, tried to see what Geoffrey read but unable to decipher the letters. 

"It was a proud village, a great village, that had seen many great men and women. But this summer, when the sun stood high during the heat of the day and the evenings stretched long, unforeseen circumstances would throw mighty shadows into the future and past alike..."

Percival leaned in closer as Geoffrey read and closed his eyes, allowed it when Geoffrey put an arm around his shoulder.

"Turn the page," Geoffrey said at one point, voice low and paused for Percival to turn the page, even paused for him to look his fill on the drawings before he continued reading. 

Percival remembered the story differently, nuances here and there, but when he turned his face into the warmth of Geoffrey's body and his muscles dropped their tension, it felt a little like home. Like being held when the stupid mice scared him or the boys in the village thought he was easy fodder because he didn't know what to do with his arms and legs.

Every now and then Geoffrey would move Percival's hand from the page so he could continue reading and then he just held his hand, thumb rubbing slow circles into Percival's palm.

"...and the feast lasted for days and days, with all evil banned from the surrounding land for centuries." 

Percival listened into the ensuing quiet, no scuffle of mice or shouts about the village, only the comforting warmth of someone right there. 

"Do you want to tell me what has you crying, boy?" Geoffrey brushed a corner of his sleeve over Percival's cheek, but didn't scold when Percival couldn't make his throat form an answer and only brought out a few sounds. "Shhh, it's fine, it's all fine in here, hm?"

He'd joke with the others by the fire tomorrow, about conquests, and they'd never know about the boy scared of mice, the boy who missed his village and family, the boy who'd been the butt of all the other boys' jokes when young and stupid. But for tonight, he didn't want to move from here. He'd keep his eyes closed and wouldn't shift from the warmth, or the press of skin to his fingers, or the brush of lips to his forehead. He wouldn't move from that.

On the pages the colours and words blended into one, forming history.


End file.
